


Under A Sea of Stars

by StudioCapsicum



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Elvish!Melinda, F/M, Lord Of The Rings AU, ranger!Phil
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-07
Updated: 2017-05-07
Packaged: 2018-10-29 03:11:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10845279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StudioCapsicum/pseuds/StudioCapsicum
Summary: Phil, a Ranger of the North, needs supplies for his journey. He didn't expect to pick up more than just supplies from Rivendell.





	Under A Sea of Stars

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to the incomparable qiaolianmelindamay for the beta <3 you're an angel. 
> 
> This is probably the latest b'day present anyone has ever received, but Elle, you're amazing and I really hope you enjoy this.

Phil pulled his cloak around him, shivering as the cold bit through icy veins. His mare snorted in weariness, the only sound in the bleak valley as they slowly plodded forward. Breath misted in front of him, the white a stark contrast against the never ending greenery.

 

“So close Lola,” he whispered to his only companion. He’d spent many years with only his mare for company, wandering the land to protect the Hobbits and other folk scattered throughout Arnor. Such was the life of a Northern Ranger.

 

He preferred to find supplies in Bree and it had been decades since he had last set foot in Rivendell. If he hadn’t been so preoccupied with the cold, he’d be concerned with his grasp of the Elvish language, having not spoken a word of it in years.

 

Shivering, he pulled his hood up. He was just able to see the roofs over the treetops, hear the gushing of the waterfall and if he listened closely, a bard singing softly through the trees. Grinning softly to himself, Phil was amazed he’d finally found the hidden valley; he’d been walking these woods for days.

 

Shifting his seat, he urged his mare into a trot, eager to find a bed and a meal before he rode off again. He rode forward, reaching the entrance where he was greeted by the pale gatekeepers. Astounded by their grace as always, Phil anxiously tested his Sindarin, much to the amusement of the Elves.

 

“Welcome, _Emel_ ,” they returned, laughing heartily at his attempt.

 

He’d been dubbed ‘heart’ during his youth and now couldn’t shake the nickname. It had almost been sixty years since he’d last set foot in Rivendell and yet they all seemed to remember him. After spending a few years in Rivendell when he was younger, he’d become accustomed to Elven culture and training, socialising with as many elves as he could during his short stay.

 

Yet it was times like this he wished he’d paid more attention when being taught their language.

 

He made his way to the inn on foot, his mare immediately taken to the stables. She’d walked off without looking back at him, perfectly happy to be under the care of the elves. Phil rolled his eyes at her lack of loyalty, justifying himself through his lack of sugar cubes.

 

The inn was far more sophisticated than that of Bree, silver cutlery ferried around by the staff who were dressed in finery; silver adorning their silken robes. Phil would never understand how Dwarves thought their culture was superior after living in Elven luxury, but no one was quite as patriotic as the Dwarves.

 

Phil took up a seat in the corner of the room, able to see all movement within the inn from his position. He rested his blade against the table, his quiver and bow leaning against the wall as he fully relaxed for the first time in years. Even in Bree he had to be mindful of his possessions, but Rivendell was the only place in Middle Earth where he could let his guard down.

 

The air was still in the inn, the Elvish washing over him as he ate slowly, appreciating the hot food. Food on the road was less than appetising, coming into town for meals had become quite a large pleasure in recent years.

 

Many entered and exited the inn as Phil sat, revelling in the comfort of the inn and its ale. They walked like the breeze, coming to and fro without disturbing the peace. Phil barely noticed them, long hair wafting behind them, feet dancing across the marble floors.

 

He was in a dream-like state, far more comfortable than he had ever imagined.

 

Then she walked past.

 

There was a bow slung over her shoulder, a quiver resting on her back. Her midnight black hair wasn’t braided like most elves and hung just above her hips, reflecting the candlelight and glowing almost golden.

 

Phil couldn’t take his eyes off her.

 

She collected a small parcel from the innkeeper and turned swiftly on her heel, not even sparing him a glance as she strode out the door.

 

Phil was almost annoyed that he melded into the wall so well. He stood immediately, gathering his equipment and hurrying after her. Truth be told, the life of a Ranger was very solitary and there weren’t many chances to meet women.

 

He wasn’t going to let her slip away.

 

The town was awash with moonlight as he left the inn, his eyes darting about to find her in the crowd of Elves returning to their homes. Once again, he felt the lone Ranger as he was lost in a sea of Elves, none of them familiar.

 

It was overwhelming, elves bumping into him from all sides, each one of them reaching his shoulders as the crowd became too much to bear, looking up at him with confusion and intrigue. The elves merged into one throbbing mass, golden and black hair melding together until he couldn’t differentiate between them. He was jostled side to side, enveloped in their silent footsteps, their silent glances, and he completely lost sight of the Elf he was looking for.

 

There was a gentle tug on his arm.

 

“Ranger, it’s dark. Did you need shelter at the inn?” The young Elf was less than half his height, a worried expression settled on his face as he looked up at Phil.

 

Sighing, Phil dedicated himself to continuing the search tomorrow.

 

“Thank you Master…” he trailed off.

 

The young Elf gulped, “You can call me Fitz, Mister Ranger Sir.”

 

* * *

 

Phil woke early in the morning, walking out the door as soon as the sun arose. There was a certain serenity about Rivendell; it was completely peaceful, birds chirping in the trees, the breeze drifting over wildflowers as he walked through the meadow. His hands skimmed over tall blades of grass as he ambled further towards the forest.

 

Quiet thuds sounded in the distance, rhythmically pulsing in time with his step.

 

Finally reaching the treeline, he spied her.

 

Black hair curled against her back, contrasting against the bright green of the mossy forest. It barely moved as she re-strung her bow, arrow after arrow hitting the same target, which he could barely see in the distance.

 

He strung his bow slowly, as quietly as he could.

 

Phil could have watched her forever, the ease in which she released, her simple elegance. Her green cloak was heavy against her fitted leather chestpiece. Elvish-wear was usually more intricate than her clothing, but it didn’t stop him from marvelling at its elegance.

 

Drawing his string back, he focussed on his target, loosing as soon as she released. The small sound of his arrow leaving his bow alerted her attention, her head swiveling to catch his eye. His arrow intercepted hers, throwing it off course. They both watched as the arrows fell to the ground, the Elf’s eyes not blinking as she looked up at him.

 

She was effortlessly stunning and he couldn’t imagine anyone more beautiful. Yet they stood apart; he on the forest line, she deep within.

 

She stood proudly as he began to walk over to her, her bow resting against her hip as she stood her ground.

 

Unconsciously, she was scanning his face, looking at his stubble, his travel weary features.

 

“You’re a Ranger.” Her voice carried in the breeze, light but firm.

 

He nodded slowly, a smile quirking the corner of his mouth. They finally stood face to face. The woman he’d noticed at the inn was in front of him, smiling slightly.

 

Reaching out for his bow, she checked with him first to see if it was okay. She held it gently in the palm of her hand before testing the tensity of his bowstring.

 

“I haven’t seen you here before,” he stated simply, wishing he could impress her, but not knowing what to say.

 

“In Rivendell or in the forest?” Her voice was calming, washing over him. He nearly forgot to answer, so distracted by her.

 

“Anywhere.” She turned and walked away, almost floating over the forest floor. Following immediately, he felt almost tied to her.

 

They traipsed through the undergrowth towards the target she had been firing at.

 

“Where do you guard?” She asked, noticing that he had followed her. She’d never met a Ranger before, only heard about them in tales over the years. She was trying to hide how interested she was in his lifestyle, but wasn’t convinced she was pulling it off.

 

“I’m a Ranger of the North, I don’t often come this far East.” He answered. “And what do you do?”

 

“I’m a soldier, but we haven’t had war in years.” Phil was entranced by every syllable, it probably wouldn’t matter what she was saying but he hung onto every word. “My name is Melinda, I assume you are the one they call _Emel_?”

 

“Call me Phil, _Emel_ is a bit formal for my taste.” Despite her presence, Phil was completely at ease. He’d never let someone touch his bow before, yet he’d felt perfectly comfortable with her testing it.

 

Her fingers reached out to trace his cloak clasp.

 

“Dine with me tonight,” she requested, more of a statement than a question.

 

“Of course.”

 

* * *

 

The little boy hurried around him, tucking in his shirt and tying the laces of his worn boots.

  
“Fitz, I’m sorry to tell you, this is as good as it gets.” He was dressed in a white linen tunic, his riding boots and breeches. There weren’t many options, as he carried only the necessities for his lifestyle. Smoothing down his hair, Phil sighed, feeling his age.

 

“Do you know anything about an Elf called Melinda?” He asked the young boy.

 

He gasped, pausing his motions and looking up at Phil. “Lady Melinda?”

 

Phil stared back at him, completely bewildered.

 

“Lady Melinda is famed in Rivendell Sir. She is known as _I Cavalrui_. She’s the fiercest warrior we have.” Fitz was obviously in awe of her, his eyes wide and an excited grin on his face as he straightened Phil’s shirt across his shoulders.

 

“So, no pressure.” Phil laughed nervously, tense with anticipation.

 

“She was supposed to marry the Lord’s son, Master Garner, but he died in battle years ago.” Phil paled even further. How could he possibly be worthy of this woman? Fitz continued to speak of her great deeds until Phil shut him up. He felt like he was going to be sick.

 

* * *

 

All his doubts left him when he saw Melinda.

 

She was stunning. That was the only word for it. Her white gown draped over her, the moonlight illuminating her face, leaving brightness in her eyes as she looked at him. Her gown was plain, save for a girdle of leaves wrought in silver, hair tumbling down her shoulders, a cap of silver lace adorning the crown of her head, netted with small gems which glittered white as the night took hold.

 

In that moment, he didn’t feel unworthy. She was looking at him like he was everything and neither of them were ashamed.

 

Candles washed the balcony in a fiery glow, moonlight filtering through the trees as she poured wine for them both.

 

“Phil,” she said serenely as they stood at the edge of the balcony, leaning on the railing. He stared into the endless night while she couldn’t take her eyes off him. “I want you to take me to the North.”

 

Of everything he had expected from the evening, she had completely surprised him. He glanced sharply across at her, his brow furrowed.

 

“Your duty is here, I cannot impede on your service, My Lady.” His tone was stilted, as much as the idea was fascinating to him, he couldn’t take her from Rivendell.

 

He could imagine days spread out before them, watching as the sun fell from the sky, as the stars rose from the earth. Smoke spiralling upwards as they cooked, her smile visible through the ever growing darkness. But he couldn’t possibly say yes.

 

All his reservations left him when she took his hand.

 

“The young mister Fitz has packed your things, you have your new supplies, all that’s left is to leave.” He nodded slowly as her hand squeezed his, “I’m ready to leave Rivendell, this town has taken my life from me and I want to take it back. I will help you with your duty to the land if you let me.”

 

Phil’s choice was made for him as she tugged him by the hand, leading him through the manor. They walked down stairs, across streets and through alleyways until they reached the stables. Lola stood next to an elegant dappled grey gelding, all Phil’s gear spread evenly across the two mounts.

 

He laced his tunic over his chest, Melinda tightening it for him, her hands resting on his chest for a split second before she returned to her own horse, elegantly swinging her leg over his back and setting herself down.

 

“Are you sure My Lady?” he asked as he rose onto Lola, glancing across at Melinda in anticipation.

 

She shifted her seat, responding, “Stop calling me that.” Her gelding quickly walked forward and out the main gates of Rivendell.

 

He’d committed himself to her now, to long days of nothing but her for company, to months on the road.

 

Trotting after her eagerly, Phil couldn’t help but think it was the best decision he’d ever made.

 

* * *

 

Smoke spiralled upwards, the open fire crackling in front of them as Phil tugged his cloak further around himself. The night was hauntingly cold, chilling them both to the bone despite the warmth they tried to maintain.

 

“Is it always like this?” She complained, her usually fair and regal persona falling, showcasing a side to her that he doubted many people had seen.

 

Laughing gently, he shook his head, “It’s been colder lately, winter is on it’s way. We’ll get shorter days and endless nights, but I think the view is worth it.” His glance lingered on her before he pointed up at the stars.

 

Transfixed by the view, Melinda couldn’t imagine anything more stunning, the mossy trees around them framing the endless black sky, adorned with drops of silver which permeated the darkness. It gave Phil a moment to collect himself, rubbing over his stubble and turning the slowly cooking rabbit over the fire as he leaned against a tree.

 

There was a quiet rustling in the bushes which only she could hear, and her eyes quickly jolted down to meet his.

 

She rose to her feet immediately, stamping out the fire and pulling him to his feet.

 

“We must leave,” picking up their gear, they started running, hands clasped together as they stole through the night, pace quickening with every step until they were almost flying over the rocky terrain.

 

“Melinda,” he whispered, pulling her towards him as he pinned himself against a mossy outcropping. Pulling his cloak around the both of them, they pressed together, scared that the cloak would be too small to conceal them both.

 

Her head rested on his shoulder, a head shorter than the tall Dúnadan, arms wrapped loosely around his waist as they waited.

 

Light-footed Elves roved around the forest, searching for them, trying to take Melinda back to Rivendell. So they hid for hours, finally finding warmth as they huddled together, waiting until Melinda could no longer hear the Elves who had sadly traipsed back home, unable to complete their mission for the Lord.

 

Phil had nearly started dozing off, so content in her embrace. Her hair was silky against his hands as he fought off the urge to stroke his fingers through it.

 

Her head finally moved and in their close quarters, her cheek rested against his as she whispered in his ear, trying not to be distracted by the feel of the coarse stubble against her skin. “They’ve gone,” she breathed out, his eyes opening drearily as he took note of their current position.

 

Neither of them pulled apart immediately, instead separating slowly, already missing the closeness that they’d just shared.

 

The moment was broken as Phil’s stomach rumbled in agitation, reminding them both of the meal that had been forsaken.

 

“I know it’s not the same,” she said, pulling two familiar looking packages out of her rucksack, “lembas?” she asked, handing him a piece which he dutifully took, saddened at the thought of the perfectly fine rabbit they’d had to leave behind.

 

* * *

 

They’d spent months in the forest together, months of hiding from Elves who endlessly tried to take Melinda back to Rivendell, months of protecting Hobbits and of quietly coming to terms with each other.

 

Months which had not prepared Melinda for seeing Phil hurt.

 

She loosed her arrow, thudding into an orc who snarled viciously behind phil, his long blade protruding though Phil’s chest. Every last orc lay defeated around them, but the guttural cry that left Phil’s throat as he fell to his knees filled her with rage. These savage monsters had done this, they’d hurt the man who was now grabbing at the blade he could see in front of him, cutting his hands on the sharp edge as he fought to breathe properly.

 

“Quiet, Phillip.” She whispered, she slowly withdrew the blade, his screams echoing throughout the forest. She murmured quiet words of safety and comfort, and she could see him draw from them, his eyes meeting hers through his shivering and groaning.

 

She drew a vial out of her breast pocket, the blue liquid shining as she poured it through the wound, “Phil, breathe for me.” Her voice was soft, and her words had the opposite effect.

 

He stopped breathing and she couldn’t see his heartbeat any more. Laying in her arms, his blood stained her cloak, seeping out of his wound and onto the forest floor. He stared up at the sky, lips parted as his dull eyes missed the anguish on Melinda’s face.

 

She couldn’t bare to see him like this, so vulnerable. She knew how the serum worked, she understood that he would die before he’d come back to her, but the moments she had to wait were the hardest she’d ever lived.

 

His eyes fluttering open, blinking in the light, warmed her heart.

 

He took in a heaving gasp, spluttering to life as he clutched his chest. Her hand rested on top of his, her fingers lacing through his as she smiled down at him.

 

“I guess I can’t be called _Emel_ anymore, my heart isn’t exactly what it used to be.” He groaned, letting his head fall back onto her lap.

 

They’d tried to avoid this much contact, he’d always shied away from her after the last time they’d shared such closeness. He’d assumed she only asked him to dine so he could take her away from Rivendell, but the way her eyes shined as she looked down at him, he wondered if that was the case at all.

 

Her hand trailed up, caressing his jaw as he became comfortable in her embrace. She was fascinated by his stubble, as the Elves in Rivendell couldn’t grow beards, she loved the coarse feel under her fingers.

 

“We should move,” he muttered, “the smell of orc corpse is getting to me.”

 

* * *

 

“Stand up straight,” she glared at him as he grimaced.

  
“Is this necessary?” He asked, his nerves wreaking havoc on his emotions. Cupping water in her hands, she gently let it trickle down Phil’s chest, watching the paths each individual drop took. They ran through his chest hair, over his wound which stood out against his skin, red and jarring.

 

She wiped away all the blood, the debris and the dirt, leaving him cleaner than he had felt since Rivendell. Trying to ignore how hot his skin felt under her hands, she ran her hands up to his face, wiping away the dirty marks that tarnished his features.

 

Fingers ran lightly over his cheekbones, dancing over his eyelids. Her eyes darted around, avoiding his. Firm strokes of her thumbs loosened the tension in his forehead and he completely relaxed into her touch.

 

Her thumb grazed against his lip, his eyes opening languidly.

 

His hand left his side, trailing up her frozen arm and stroking the palm of her hand. He pressed a kiss to her fingertips, one hand resting on her waist as he took a step closer.

 

“Phil,” she whispered as he closed the distance between them, his eyes sliding shut as his lips pressed against hers. She immediately melted into him, her tongue sliding against his as they both wondered what had taken them so long.

 

There were no pressures of time, nor of space, so they stood there until the cold took hold of them, comfortable in each others embrace.

 

Phil had never seen a more beautiful sight than her bruised lips parted, panting slightly for breath as she gazed at his lips. Her hand rested on his chest, feeling his heartbeat under his skin.

 

Neither of them had ever felt more alive and as the stars reflected in the water around them, they both knew that no night would ever live up to the transcendence of this moment.

  
  



End file.
